Nothing You Can Do
by Charante Leclerc
Summary: BBC Sherlock What happens after Sherlock thinks nothing can help him...


**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor profit from

**Nothing You Can Do**

Sherlock sprawled across his seat, his feet crossed in front of him. He was twirling a pistol in one hand, and eyeing the new yellow face on the wall in front of him, which had 7 bullet holes in. That was two more than the old face, which also grinned down at him from the wall. There was a significant difference between the first yellow face and the second.

The second was John.

This probably wasn't the best way to vent his feelings about John, but it was the only logical one. What he thought was the logical one. He still couldn't describe what this feeling was, only that it was foreign to him.

_You know exactly what it is. Don't keep lying to yourself._

No. He was not feeling that emotion. Not even John could make him feel that.

_Could he?_

To save himself from the indecision, Sherlock decided on another couple of shots at the yellow John.

_**BANG! BANG!**_

"WHAT IS GOING ON?" Came to satisfactory response, and Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the right to see an irate John stomping up the stairs, clutching his ears.

"Shooting you. What does it look like?" Sherlock questioned, pleased to see a scowl pass across his flatmates face.

"What do you mean you're shooting me?" John demanded, anger laced through his voice. Sherlock pointed at the opposite wall.

"I'm shooting you." Sherlock restated. It _was_ slightly obvious. How dense could John _be?_

John stared at the wall, his mouth falling open slightly.

"That's... that's...that's me." John pointed at the wall, turning to face Sherlock, shock on his face.

"Yes John. Great powers of observation." Sherlock sniffed, turning his attention back to the pistol.

"Why are shooting me?" John was still pointing at the yellow face John.

"Because you were inside my head. And I didn't want you there." Sherlock replied, still twiddling the pistol.

"I was inside _your_ head?" John repeated, not sure he was hearing Sherlock right.

"Yes. You were making me feel things. I didn't like it. Hence why I was shooting you." Sherlock stated, as if talking to a 5 year old.

"I was making you feel things?" John repeated, his face still shocked.

"Yes, John. Feel things. Do you have a necessity to repeat everything? It's rather dull." John continued staring.

"What sort of things?"

"Love." Sherlock replied absently, concentrating on the pistol. _How effective would this be if I shot it through a brain? How far would it penetrate?_

John was still staring at him, comprehension starting to dawn on his face.

"And exactly how long have you been feeling this?" John asked, moving closer.

"2 months, 3 days and... 15 hours." Sherlock replied, looking at his watch. John was now watching him with a curious expression.

"Why are you staring at me like that John?" Sherlock asked, exasperation showing in his voice.

"Just stand up." John instructed.

"Why?" Now Sherlock was staring at John.

"Just do it."

"No."

"Stop being stubborn."

"Why?" Sherlock seemed mystified. John gave up on verbally trying to persuade, and just pulled Sherlock up instead.

"Why didn't you say anything?" John said, staring up at Sherlock.

"Why should I? You nor I could do anything about it." Sherlock replied, still nothing seeming clearer.

"Oh couldn't I?" John's voice had laughter in it, and pulled Sherlock down for a kiss.

_Oh God, John._

They both relaxed into the kiss, John's hands latching onto Sherlock's curls, trying to pull him down further. Sherlock snaked his arms around John's waist, trying to close as much space between the two of them as possible. After what seemed like an impossibly short time, they drew apart. John stroked the back of his hand down Sherlock's marble face.

"Is that the sort of feeling you were trying to rid yourself of?" John asked, pushing a stray dark curl out of Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock ran his fingers through John's sandy hair.

"Yes." Sherlock breathed into John's ear. John slowly smiled, and pulled Sherlock down into another kiss. Sherlock moaned, and tightened his arms around John's waist, where Sherlock's hands now lay. John pulled away only a few inches.

"And there was nothing I could do, Sherlock?" John teased, a smile lighting his up his face.

Sherlock just laughed, deep golden notes falling out of his mouth, his pale face flushed.

"There was always something you could do John. We just never realised it." Sherlock bent his head so his face was snuggled into John's shoulder, into John's blue jumper with cream and black zigzags.

_My new favourite._

John absently rubbed a circle pattern into Sherlock's hair, his gaze never leaving Sherlock. He planted a small kiss on Sherlock's temple, receiving a small bought of laughter in return. Sherlock rose his head, and gave John another small kiss.

"There was always something you could do John. Always."


End file.
